


Quiet

by writing-winchester (unibadger2)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:32:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unibadger2/pseuds/writing-winchester
Summary: Dean Winchester was quieter than normal. Of course, he was always quiet compared to the over-excited and rambunctious twenty-four-year old he was well over a decade ago. Years of hardships and tough decisions had chipped away at his happy-go-lucky facade, leaving his deeper insecurities and solemness to filter through the cracks.





	Quiet

Dean Winchester was quieter than normal. Of course, he was always quiet compared to the over-excited and rambunctious twenty-four-year old he was well over a decade ago. Years of hardships and tough decisions had chipped away at his happy-go-lucky facade, leaving his deeper insecurities and solemness to filter through the cracks.

Nevertheless, Dean was still just too quiet. He wasn't tapping his fingers on the table to the beat of a song stuck in his head, he wasn’t grumbling about the subpar, greasy food at the diner you ate at last night, hell, he didn’t even crack a joke at his brother’s expense when Sam spilled his suspiciously green smoothie all over the suit he was wearing.

Normally, you were used to waking up in a warm bed with an arm wrapped securely around your waist and Dean’s face smushed against your neck, with him snoring softly in your ear. Instead, for the past week you had woken up in a cold bed, alone.

This morning you had sleepily wandered into the bunker’s kitchen in search of Dean to find him nursing a cup of coffee. When you snuck a sip you tasted a slight tang of alcohol, probably the whiskey you always kept nearby for medical emergencies, and glanced at him disapprovingly. You half-remembered mumbling a tired “good morning”, but only received a noncommittal grunt in response.

Taking in a deep breath, you splashed your face with cold water and shut off the squeaky faucet in the bathroom you shared with Dean. You stood there for a minute, watching the water drip down the side of your face and into the porcelain sink. Grabbing the worn out towel on the counter, which was probably fluffy in a past life, you tried off your face. A quick glance at the old alarm clock on the table told you that it was slightly past midnight.

Padding into your room, you saw Dean lying in bed, facing away from the door, and consequently, you. His chest rose and fell, but it was exaggerated in a way that told you he was pretending. Dean was tucked into himself, as if he was afraid of taking up too much space on the bed. Usually when he slept he would take up so much space you would have to make a conscious effort not to fall off the other side, but now he stuck close to the edge on his side, his arms tucked close to his chest.

“Dean,” you said. “I know you’re awake.” He didn’t answer. You let out a puff of hot air. “Dean.” You made your way over to the bed and crawled over his body to your side, folding your legs beneath you and watching his face for any sign that he was listening to you. Reaching out a hand, you softly ran your fingers around the soft hair in his face and pushed it away from his forehead. You weren’t expecting Dean to reach out a hand and grab your wrist, but you smiled softly anyways when he brought your palm to his lips and blinked up blearily at you.

“Hey sweetheart,” he mumbled, pulling you down towards him. Dean cupped your neck and brought you closer to his warm body, and you settled your head underneath his chin.

“Dean.” You spoke softly, afraid of upsetting him. “Is something wrong?” Dean stiffened next to you and squeezed your body tighter. It was quiet for a minute, and you were half-convinced Dean was going to roll over and ignore you for the rest of the night.

“You remember that hunt we went on a couple weeks ago?” He mumbled the words, like saying them out loud would bring the attention of something dark and dangerous to the two of you. “That witch.”

“Yeah, what-”

Dean’s words were rushed and he said them in a harsh whisper. “She hit me with some spell. I keep having nightmares.” This wasn’t much of a surprise to you. Nightmares weren’t a rare occurrence in Dean’s life. They seemed to come more often after his stint in hell, then purgatory, and after particularly hard hunts. You had your fair share yourself, as did many hunters. 

“I keep seeing you die, Y/N/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and when you shifted you could see that Dean’s eyes were glassy and wet. He swallowed hard, gripping the back of your pajama shirt like it was a lifeline and he was drowning in the ocean. “I can’t sleep for five minutes without seeing you die,” he ground out, choking back a particularly harsh sob.

“Dean,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him close to you. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” The man in your arms nodded and buried his face in your shoulder. You took in a shaky breath, inhaling the soft scent of cinnamon and motor oil. Dean’s breath hitched and he pulled away slightly to press a kiss to your forehead. You two lay there, and soon Dean’s breathing deepened and he snored quietly. You stayed up, watching him and running soothing fingers through his hair.

Dean didn’t have any nightmares that night.


End file.
